


Erebor’s 1st Annual Baking Competition

by onestepatatime



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onestepatatime/pseuds/onestepatatime
Summary: Bilbo will forever rue the day that he used the words ‘baking’ and ‘competition’ in the same sentence in a conversation with a dwarf.





	Erebor’s 1st Annual Baking Competition

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Saturday Night Live "Extreme Baking Championship" skit on Youtube.

“Welcome to Erebor’s 1st Annual Baking Competition.” Bilbo Baggins felt more like a game show host than a hobbit overseeing a baking competition. “Let us welcome our three volunteer judges.”

“Lord Bombur, Erebor’s Royal Chef.” Bombur had eyes only for the boxes covering the competitors’ cakes and waved absently.

“Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm.” Legolas sheepishly turned from being caught at making faces behind Fili’s back.

“The Woodland Realm is honored to be represented among these honored judges.”  Legolas smiled as if he had only come here to get a good laugh at dwarven expense. Bilbo realized with a sinking feeling that the prince was probably right. The look on the faces of Thorin’s Company when Bilbo had spoken the word ‘competition’ had a determination deserving of facing a hoard of orcs.

Bilbo should never have explained the meaning of ‘competition’ in the Shire, but he had been so enthused about advancing his dwarven program to the next level. The early stages of mealtime manners had been sort of successful, so he had explained all of the different kinds of baking competitions. What harm could a cake cause?

“Princess Sigrid of Dale.” The young lady was staring at her father with pity for some reason, but nodded acknowledgment.

“As all of you know, this baking competition is to celebrate our alliance, with judges and contestants from all three realms.” Bilbo stressed the word ‘baking’ as he stared a moment too long at Thorin. Thorin himself paid far more attention to Bilbo’s new emerald green waistcoat and trousers set than the judges as he mumbled a greeting and thanks.

“Why are there two dwarven contestants?” Bard just had too actually speak. Bilbo could admit that the man could make speeches that made ladies swoon, but he did not have a diplomatic bone in his body. His idle chit chat was also somewhat disappointing as Bard always tried to steer the conversation towards his account of the slaying of Smaug.

“King Thranduil could not attend. Moving on…” Bilbo cut off any replies. Thranduil had flat out refused, somehow torturing his son into coming as a judge in his place. Angry at the slight, Thorin also declined to be a judge, but insisted that he fully supported Bilbo’s ideas and decreed himself a competitor. Kili had suspiciously disappeared, so Bombur happily accepted being ‘volunteered’ as a judge at the last moment.

“Our first baking contestant is Crown Prince Fili of Erebor. Fili, please tell us about the cake that you made. Please remember, judges, that each competitor had no help beyond advice in the making of their projects.” Bilbo stood proudly behind his host’s podium, ignoring the fact that he had to stand on a child’s stool to be level with even a dwarf.

“I chose a white butternut flavor, with mint green frosting.” Fili smiled a bit too nicely at Legolas as he removed the large blue box with a picture of Erebor’s profile embossed on it. His cake was a small, square, double-layer cake festooned with suspicious looking leaves. Bilbo frowned as he tried to look closer at the cake.

“In line with Bilbo’s theme of celebrating allies, I have created a cake embellished with nuts and berries to tempt the elven pallet.”

“No, those leaves are poison ivy, Fili.” Bilbo looked rather pale.

“Are those real knife points sticking out of your cake, Fili?” Sigrid frowned as she leaned in closer for a better look.

“Of course not,” Fili smiled. Just then a knife landed with a loud thunk in the wooden back of Legolas chair by his head. “This is just a friendly competition to promote peace among allies. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Yes, why?” Legolas grumbled.

“Next cake,” Bilbo chimed after Fili gave his proud answer. No use in saying anything; Thorin was applauding.

Thorin wore an entirely too proud expression himself as he lifted the Durin blue box embossed with his sigil. What was revealed was a 1/3rd scale full body Thranduil cake, standing up and looking truly regal.

“I used an almond flavored white cake. The hair is lemon flavored spun sugar to accent the taste of the almond." Thorin went on to explain that he had taken Bilbo’s advice to heart. “I chose this subject to convey my message to the Woodland Realm.” Thorin smiled so sweetly at Bilbo that the hobbit was glad that he was merely the host.

“Wow, Thorin, I’m truly impressed.” Bilbo was awed. So were the other judges, until Legolas asked a rather disturbing question.

“King Thorin, the likeness is remarkable. I was just wondering why there are several bullseyes on key areas of the cake?” Bilbo hid his face in his hands as he realized that what he had dismissed as a polka dot outfit, like his grandmother’s favorite dress, was in reality just as the prince said.

“You are absolutely correct, Prince Legolas.” Thorin now presented his four side cakes, simple delights, with miniature bows and arrows as the cake toppers. “The cake is for target practice, the bows and arrows being real.”

“Kill me.” The cake spoke after Thorin wound up some sort of clockwork device hidden in the head.

“Gladly.” Thorin picked up one of the miniature bows and shot it. Bilbo did not bother to see which bullseye that it hit. He turned green when Thorin explained that the cake’s internal makeup was a red cherry filling. “This it too better show the profuse bleeding caused by the arrows reaching their marks.”

“Moving on,” Bilbo turned away, unable to reprimand Thorin for trying to please him. Why even bother, as he now seemed responsible for this diplomatic nightmare by the way Legolas was glaring at him?

Bilbo sigh in resignation as Bard pulled off a red box with an embossed dragon on it to reveal a rather long red cake in the shape of a dead Smaug. He barely listened to Dale’s new king give a delicious sounding description. How was this cake going to go wrong? The hobbit had no hope at this point.

Bombur was the one to ask the question that ruined this entry. “Why is there a rather large arrow in this cake? The arrow itself is longer than the depiction of Smaug’s body.”

Bilbo banged his head against his host podium as Bard proudly explained. “This is the actual black arrow, pulled from Smaug’s dead carcass.”

All three judges paused in their taste test, fork in hand.

“Delicious,” Legolas smiled after flipping all three pieces over his shoulder faster than the eye could perceive.

“Is this a form of cheating?” The ever suspicious Thorin huffed. “Is Lady Sigrid being a judge cheating by favoritism? She is Bard’s daughter.”

“No, no. It is not a factor.” Sigrid adamantly disagreed that this fact was a problem in choosing a winner. “Believe me.”

Bilbo, speechless as he thought that his family would never believe the difficulties of this abomination of a competition, merely waved for Kili to proceed with a strained smile.

Kili’s bright face should have been a warning, Bilbo later realized. Kili could not even boil water without burning it. How did he get into this competition anyway? Where was the elven competitor, he was stupid enough to ask?

“Glad you asked, Mr. Boggins.” Kili grinned as he pulled off a green box embossed with Hydrangea flowers to reveal his cake. Bilbo vaguely remembered that those flowers meant "Thank you for understanding." when used as a wedding flower, for the revealed cake was…

“It is Ba…Oh my!” Bilbo, and everyone else, stared gape-jawed. Kili had revealed a giant wedding cake complete with columns supporting three tiers. It even had a miniature fountain of blue water.

“Tauriel was the elven competitor, but we eloped last night. We made a cake to celebrate! As what is hers is mine, and mine is hers, she allowed me to compete in her spot.” Kili was the perfect idiot husband to blame everything on. Tauriel was a wise elf, Bilbo found himself nodding in agreement.

“Kili!” Thorin growled as he eyed his miniature bows and arrows, fists clenched.

“So much for my not needing to get married for at least another hundred years.” Fili sighed sadly as he peered a bit too closely at the 'not real' knives in his own cake.

“Do not worry, Fili. I have already procured an heir.” Kili cheerfully announced entirely too loudly as Tauriel appeared. Kili wrapped an arm around her waist. “We are pregnant.”

A wise man, Bard quickly ducked under his cake display table. For Thorin had turned purple, wearing an expression that would have his gold sickness stare of suspicion deemed rational in comparison.

“Du Bekar!” Orcrist was a rather more formidable weapon than miniature bows and arrows. The fact that Thorin had the elven sword strapped to his back at all times had the odd couple fleeing. Bilbo absently noted through his shock how gracefully Tauriel scooped up their wedding cake on the way out. Thorin followed, racing after Kili, rather determined to catch his wayward nephew.

“Now I have to get married a century early! Probably tomorrow! Thanks a lot, Kili!” Rather angry at having his carefree prince days cut short, Fili followed as he threw knives from his cake that he snatched up as he ran by. Bilbo idly wondered if dwarves could get poison ivy. That cake was covered rather well with the rash-causing greenery.

“I will just go and see if I can help deescalate the…err…situation.” Legolas bounded after them on light feet. Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if his relatives would lament the missed opportunity to start a betting pool on who would die this day.

“Let’s go, Dad.” Sigrid all to calmly got up like the lady she was. She smiled in apology at the poor, bewildered hobbit just staring at his ruined plans. Bard was quickly extracted, though she firmly refused the slice of cake that her father offered her.

“Did I win?” Bard vehemently refused to leave his cake before reclaiming his black arrow, covered in red icing and all.

“No. But it was very close.” Sigrid smiled as she looped her arm through Bard’s, ignoring the icing smeared on them from the arrow. Bilbo could see Kili sporting so much red coloring about now, and not from harmless icing.

“Then, where are we going?” Bard deflated in dejection, not a good look on a king. He looked hopefully at Bilbo, who only gave a helpless smile in return.

"To your intervention session, Dad. You are entirely too obsessed with your killing of that dragon.”

“I was named Bard the Dragon Slayer, Sigrid. That has to account…” Their voices faded away.

Bombur merely looked at Bilbo, and glanced around with a miserable look on his face. Pitiful whining echoed through the halls as he left to go back to his royal kitchens.

As Bilbo himself morosely examined Thorin’s truly lifelike cake, he wondered how on Middle Earth he would explain this catastrophe in a believable letter to his family. Several skeptical cousins who had started a betting pool were eagerly awaiting the results of this baking fiasco. Bilbo had so naively and convincingly argued that dwarves could be domesticated with proper effort and training. Yeah, right.

“Did I win?” Thorin’s booming voice sounding behind the hobbit had him nearly jumping into the arms of the confectionary statue.

“It was the realism of the flowing blood, wasn’t it?” Thorin’s grin was a bit maniacal. The look on the dwarf’s face seeking Bilbo’s approval was too much for words. Dismayed, Bilbo looked at the three now-empty judges’ seats. Everyone else was long gone.

“Are there only annual competitions held in the Shire?” Thorin also had a too bright gleam in his eye. “I would like to have a king bake-off next month. We can advertise as far as Rohan as caravans…”

Bilbo froze in dismay as the implications of Thorin’s idea sank in. He could see a scene in his mind’s eye of Thorin commissioning ovens large enough to make a suspiciously life-sized Thranduil cake. Clearly, dwarf domestication was on an unforeseen village scale, or might even require a Shire-wide effort. Perhaps experimenting on one at a time was best.

“Congratulations, Thorin!” Bilbo turned to face the dwarf king with his own smile that was undoubtedly not a horrified snarl. “You are the winner, and indeed, it was the realism that clinched your victory.”

Thorin smiled as the hobbit inwardly screamed in dismay. How could this have gone so wrong? Baking was supposed to be inane, not murderous. Only a dwarf could pull this disaster off.

“What did I win, Master Burglar?” Perhaps Bilbo could use Thorin’s eagerness to please him to his advantage.

“You have won a trip across Middle Earth!” Bilbo beamed as he took Thorin’s arm in his own.

“Bilbo, I…” Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“You and a guest are going on an all-expenses-paid, one-way trip to the Shire.” Bilbo cut Thorin off before the dwarf could be Thorin and state the obvious, that they had already crossed Middle Earth. Bilbo knew as much; he had been there.

“The Shire?” Thorin didn’t know whether to scratch his head or smile at Bilbo’s enthusiasm. “Are you certain? Did you taste the cake? Better yet, try a sample shot.”

Bilbo pulled two suitcases out from under the host’s podium. “Leave the archery to Kili, Thorin. By the way…”

“Let Fili and Legolas handle this. As heirs, they need the practice.” Thorin shrugged as he easily took both rather large trunks in hand.

“Of course.” Bilbo beamed as he thanked Thorin for his help. He was also thanking his own foresight in preparation for immediate evacuation in the event of an imminent elven/dwarven relations implosion. His cousin Adalgrim was never going to believe that a baking competition had caused a war that was certain to be memorable for ages to come.

“Could you grab one of the side cakes? I’m certain that your fellow hobbits will appreciate the…” Thorin let the entirely too cheerful hobbit, who was nearing the point of hysterics, steer him down the corridor to the front gate.

“Get in the carriage, Thorin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Concocting this drabble is what the person laughing to themselves at work is thinking. My muses went overboard with this one.


End file.
